


Homeward bound from the Arctic ground

by viveriveniversumvivusvici55



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Drunken Singing, M/M, Sam is a sucker for good singers, Songfic, The farmer can sing, There needs to be more fun things with Willy, Voice Kink, no beta we die like men, that's it that's the fic, very mild tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-08-14 04:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20186428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viveriveniversumvivusvici55/pseuds/viveriveniversumvivusvici55
Summary: Willy likes sea shanties. So does the new farmer. Sam has a thing for good voices. I am terrible at summaries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been quietly obsessed with this sea shanty for a while. I also am trying out the Sam romance for the first time. I hope these things work well in combination. I may write a little follow up to this, if anyone is interested. My apologies for any typos or low quality - I had an idea and I wrote it all in one sitting.

“Oh Yoba, Willy got into the rum again.” Abigail should sound remorseful but she can’t stop grinning, peering around the corner to the main tavern.

Sebastian puts down his pool cue and starts digging out his phone from his pocket, flicking the camera app on. "I have to get this. No one outside of Stardew believes me when I tell them."

Sam is already spinning around to lean against the pool table, an easy smile across his lips. This isn't a common occurence, but it's definitely a funny one. Willy will bring in a particularly good catch and sell it just as well. When he does, he buys a lot of rum and gets himself plastered. Shane even looks a bit stunned by how long Willy's tab gets. However, Willy is a different kind of drunk than Shane. Shane gets more melancholy and quiet the more he drinks, huddled in his corner like he is trying to blend into Gus's walls, and slinks home, preparing to do it again the next night. Willy, well...

Willy sang.

Sam thinks it was hilarious. Willy is their weird uncle, the one who hovers by the beach, tells strange stories, and snuck them drinks from his flask when they were too young to be drinking and didn't know anyone who would boot for them. They like him. It's good to see him happy. And apparently his way of showing that he's happy is reliving his days from when he was on larger trawlers, sailing closer to the Gotoro Empire, singing along with the pulls of rope and the clanking of crab cages. 

At that moment, their salty weird uncle is at a table by the door, abandoned by Clint who has gone to hide from the inevitable attention they will get. His hat is off, his cheeks are red, and there is a bottle in his hands. He's grinning and tapping on the table, working out a rhythm. Then he is humming softly. Sebastian has moved beside him to get a better angle. The new farmer is there too, turning around from where he's been talking to Leah to stare, because apparently it's that obvious that something is about to happen. Then Willy takes a breath and starts singing in a slightly slurred voice, raising the bottle up high.

_"Tis a damn tough life full of toil and strife we whalermen undergo  
And we don't give a damn when the day is done or how hard the winds did blow!"_

Sam hasn't heard this one, but his hand is over his mouth, trying to cover up his snorting. This is too good. Some people have turned to stare, amazed that yet again, Willy is bellowing out his songs. It's barely in tune, but maybe that's because other people need to sing along or something like that.

_"Cause we're homeward bound from the Arctic ground with a good ship taut and free,  
_ _And we won't give a damn when we drink our rum with the girls of old Maui!_

_Rolling down to Old Maui, me boys, Rolling down to old Maui!"  
_

There's another voice. There is another voice somewhere from the tavern - a younger man's voice, clear and in tune.

_"We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui!"_

Abigail gasps and Sam can hear the smile in her voice. "It's the farmer!"

Sure enough, Leah is staring at the man beside her, who has settled back in his chair and has a smile a mile wide. Willy has noticed him too and gestures with his bottle. "Your turn!"

The farmer - Andy, if Sam remembers right - smiles and bows a little. "If you insist." Then he begins again.

_"Once more we sail with a northerly gale through the ice and wind and rain,  
_ _Them coconut fronds, them tropical, we soon shall see again,   
_ _Six hellish months we passed away on the cold Kamchatka sea_   
_But now we're bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui!"_

If Sam had been able to look at himself from the outside, he'd say he looks like he's either been slapped across the face or just seen the face of Yoba. Either way, he is staring with his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide, and his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his throat because _damn the farmer can **sing**._ It's a low baritone, warm and soft with a touch of gravel, like smoke from a warm fireplace filling a room. As a musician, Sam is intrigued. He can imagine the harmonies that Andy could put together along with some of their gentler numbers and thinks that maybe their voices would fit together pretty well. He wants to ask. As a man, specifically as a man who may have a quiet thing for a good voice, well...

That voice with the warm expression on Andy's face, the small curl of black hair hanging over his forehead like he's trying to be Superman, the square glasses that reflect the low tavern light and the dimples in his cheeks with his smile mean that Sam is an absolute goner.

His head tilts and he sighs, low and soft. He almost doesn't care about Abigail and Sebastian staring at him - they know exactly what he's thinking and they will not let him forget it later - but they are quiet for now and that means there's more time to enjoy the singing as Willy and Andy sing together, harmonizing like they've practiced this their whole lives.

_Rolling down to old Maui, me boys, rolling down to old Maui!  
_ _We're homeward bound from the Arctic ground, rolling down to old Maui!_

For once, the tavern bursts into applause when they are done and Willy immediately goes to buy Andy a drink. Andy is bashful, rubbing the back of his neck as he accepts it, and promptly downs the shot of rum with a practice that makes Abigail whistle. The farmer turns and Sam has to look away, certain that his face is as red as Andy's neckerchief.

"You nerd," Sebastian mutters at him. 

"Oh, shut up," Sam hisses back, turning back to the pool table to try and collect himself.

He...may have to invite the farmer to their jam session later next week. To find out if the guy is interested in joining them, of course.

Yes. Just that. No other reason.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Good night and joy be to you all_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great thanks to dreaminglestrade for the idea that fed this chapter.

The one thing about age is that the drinking aftermath gets harder. Willy grimaces in the morning sun, fishing pole in hand (because his livelihood does not get a break when he has had a night of revelry, not in the slightest) as he waits for the fish to bite. He's gotten a couple red snapper and tilapia, now sitting in a bucket beside him gutted and ready to be sold, and some seaweed to make maki rolls with. But that is not a sign for him to stop. Not at all. He is a fisherman - he must fish a bit longer before taking his regular place in his shop on the pier.

Beside him, there is the sound of feet hitting the dock and as they get closer, the sound makes him wince. He turns, drawing his fishing rod in for a moment, and spots Andy the farmer coming up beside him, fishing pole in hand. "Mind slowing down a little there, lad?" He calls out. "Your boots are drumming on my brain."

Andy chuckles softly but obliges, slowing his steps and lightening his stride. "Aye, aye, captain. How fares the water?"

"Hungry, as always," Willy smiles back. "How fares your farm?"

"Plentiful. Sold enough crops that I think I can buy a better rod from you now."

Willy likes the farmer. He didn't know what to think of him at first - this coltish young man with far too many muscles and a soft face, looking like he belongs behind a desk - but he's gotten to know him now. Andy likes fishing, likes the meditative quiet of it and the feeling of your hard work being rewarded. It's probably why he became a farmer, now that Willy thinks of it. They sit and talk on the dock whenever Andy has the energy after a day of farming, or when Andy decides to spend a whole day fishing and will just frantically water his crops before dusk. 

"Well, let's just pick one up for you and you can test it out." Willy rises slowly, his bones creaking with the motion, and leaves his pole on the dock. He picks up the bucket of fish and walks into his shop. Andy follows dutifully behind, already digging in his pocket for the coin. As the fisherman goes through his stock, finding the best fibreglass fishing rod he has, Andy rocks back and forth on his toes in front of the counter. Willy can hear the creaking of the floorboards behind him.

"Say, lad, how did you learn that song?" He asks, drawing out the fishing rod and laying it on the counter. "You been listening to shanties while you work?"

Andy shakes his head. "Joja didn't think we worked well with music on. Had to focus on our work instead." He turns the fishing rod over in his hands, a wide smile on his face. "This is a nice rod. I'll definitely take it."

The coin for the rod and some extra bait is handed over, and Willy hands over a bucket of fresh bait. He gets it from Linus up the mountain every evening. The mine's bugs make great fish food. "I see you didn't answer my question, Andrew."

That makes Andy wince, ducking his flannel covered shoulders like a student who answered wrong in class. "Sorry, I got distracted," he looks so sheepish that Willy feels a bit like he should apologize for startling him. "My granda taught me. Not Grandpa who lived here, but my dad's pop. He worked on a trawler for a while. When I was little, he got a small boat and took me out with him on day trips to fish for dinner. We sang while we worked."

Willy smiles as he walks back around the counter and opens the door for the younger man. "I see why you fish like a natural then. You like the sea?"

Andy ducks a bit under the doorframe and nods, his smile softer, nostalgic. "Yeah. It feels like home."

"I know the feeling."

They take their familiar positions on the dock; Willy by one of the posts in front of his hope and Andy to his left, providing enough space so they could each catch fish. There is no need to talk as they reel in fish after fish, other than Andy's quiet cursing when the fish he's been working on slips off the hook. It always makes Willy smile a little.

"You have to respect the fish, lad."

"The fish can get on my hook."

As the sun slides over the yardarm and begins to sink towards the horizon, they fish until Andy runs out of bait and Willy can't ignore the shop any longer, their buckets overflowing with fish. It is immensely satisfying. A hard day's work always is. Willy finds himself humming. He is in a good mood today and good moods tend to bring in song. Before he starts singing, though, Andy recognizes the tune and jumps in.

_"Of all the money that e'er I had,  
I spent it in good company."_

Willy gladly joins in the harmony. 

_"Of all the harm that e'er I've done,_   
_Alas, it was to none but me._   
  
_And all I've done for want of wit,_   
_To memory now, I can't recall,_   
_So fill to me the parting glass,_   
_Goodnight and joy be to you all."_

Andy pulls his fishing pole out of the water, setting it to the side, and focuses on the song.

_"So fill to me the parting glass_   
_And drink to health whate'er befalls_   
_And gently rise and softly call_   
_'Goodnight and joy be to you all.'"_

The last time Willy sung this song, it was on a late night on a trawler as a young man, saying goodbye to a crew that were going their separate ways as soon as they made port. The memory made him a little melancholic as he wondered what his old friends were doing, what their lives had brought them, and how his life compared. But he was happy, fishing and singing away with new friends.

_"Of all the comrades that e'er I had,_   
_They're sorry for my going away,_   
_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had,_   
_They'd wish me one more day to stay."_

The farmer looks off into the distance, his thoughts lost. Willy wonders what this man left behind.

_"But since it fell into my lot _   
_That I should rise and you should not,_   
_I'l gently rise and softly call,_   
_'Goodnight and joy be to you all!'"_

Their voices swell louder, Andy's head thrown back to look up at the sun and bright smiles on their faces.

_"So fill to me the parting glass_   
_And drink to health whate'er befalls_   
_And gently rise and softly call_   
_'Goodnight and joy be to you all.'"_

Andy picks up his fishing pole and wiggles his fingers in a wave. Willy understands. Chores to do, fish to cook for supper, and plans for the next day. And perhaps another shanty when they eat get home. He waves back, climbing to his feet as well, wincing as his bones creak. But his headache is long gone and there is warmth in his heart - a warmth even better than what rum can give - as they sing the last line together.

_"Goodnight and joy be to you all."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Parting Glass, as done by the High Kings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcSqI1KZiLI)
> 
> Sun over the yardarm: a sailing phrase meaning that it's now socially acceptable to drink


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A jam session. And a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shamelessly inspired by this tumblr post: https://alexmuninn.tumblr.com/post/124664681974

"You can do this," Sam tells himself. "You can do it. It's not a big deal. You can do it."

"You nerd," Sebastian calls over from the synthesizer.

"Shut up!" Sam's cheeks are red, clashing far too much with his jacket, but Sebastian is just shaking his head and grinning at him.

"Get out there and talk to him. If you don't go out now, you'll miss him."

Finally, Sam takes a breath, runs his fingers through his hair to make sure the gel is holding it in place, and heads outside. In perfect timing, there is farmer Andy, fresh smears of dirt on his face and a basket full of produce, presumably to take to Pierre. He looks unfairly good in the morning sunlight, and Sam almost can't come up with the words to talk to him, but _then oh dear Yoba, Andy's looking at me!_

Sam's mouth moves before his brain. "Hey, farm boy!"

Andy's smile is like a beam of sunlight itself and he wiggles his fingers in a hello.

"After you drop those, you wanna come jam with us?" Sam jams his thumb in the direction of the bedroom. "Abigail's sick so Seb and I are just working on some covers."

The farmer's head tilts a little with consideration, his brow furrowing behind the dark glasses, and for one horrifying moment, Sam thinks Andy will say no. Then the man nods, dimples in his cheeks.

Sam grins. "Great. Just let yourself in when you're done."

Andy nods again. "As you wish."

The phrase makes Sam stutter. Andy pauses, seemingly waiting for Sam to understand, and then it clicks. That old movie, the romance between the princess and the farm boy - that's the phrase that means I love you.

_And I called him farm boy. _

Sam goes red, redder than he had gone before, and rubs the back of his neck, beyond flustered. "Well, see you soon!"

Hopefully, it doesn't look like he's running away as he ducks inside. Sebastian moves away from the window and shakes his head at Sam. "I think he thinks he scared you, you nerd."

Sam flips Sebastian off idly, trying not to sigh. Or die from embarrassment.

* * *

Andy shows up an hour later. Although he seems to walk into the front door, he still knocks on Sam's bedroom door. It's a loud, imperious knock and the only reason Sam is comfortable with someone banging on his door like that (besides the fact that it's Andy) is that he knows how uncomfortable Andy is with it. The man constantly tries to be quieter. Except when he sings. Still, Sam opens the door, guitar hanging by its strap over his shoulder, and gives the farmer a smile. "Hey. Ready to jam?"

Andy nods, rolling up his sleeves and closing the door behind him. "Certainly. What kind of songs are you playing?"

Sebastian calls over, "I've been arguing for Joy Division since you left, but he won't agree. He doesn't like them."

Sam frowns. "It's not that I don't like them. I just don't know how to play any of their songs." He picks his guitar back up and heads over towards the drum kit. "We've been jumping all over with our choices. Do you have any in mind?"

The farmer shakes his head. "Why don't you guys do one first? When I get a sense of how you play together, I'll jump in."

Sebastian nods. "Alright. A personal concert, just for you." They whisper amongst each other, trying to pick a song (with Sebastian quietly ribbing Sam for wanting to impress his crush and Sam trying to stomp on Sebastian's foot). Finally, they come up with one. Sam counts them in and they start to play one of their preferred ballads. Sam tries to focus on the song itself and just carrying the notes on guitar and vocals, but he can't help directing some of the sappier words at Andy. He does in his brain, at least. He hopes it doesn’t make it out of his head.

Andy’s increasingly softer smile seems to contradict his hopes.

When the song finishes, Andy claps his hands in applause. It’s a loud booming clap, hands slightly cupped to make the big noise, and it frankly fills the bedroom to a degree that one person clapping should. Sam bows dramatically and Sebastian just flushed and looks slightly away. “Thank you, Andy. Now, your turn.”

Andy blinks and goes a bit pink. “You think I can follow that?”

Sebastian calls out, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But Sam thinks you sing good.”

Sam tries not to blush and passed over the compliment. “Give it a shot? Just tell us the song and we’ll see what we can do.”

Andy looks embarrassed, quiet as he tries to think of something. “I…don’t really know much that isn’t a sea chanty or country.” His blush creeps into his ears and Sam’s heart swoops. It is too adorable. Men that age aren’t _allowed _to be adorable.

Sebastian steps in to try and save the farm boy’s poor dignity. “Actually, I think we know one sea chanty.”

Sam frowns. “We do?”

Sebastian laughs. “Remember that night where we got absolutely smashed on whiskey? We learned it and came up with some…alterations. I wrote down the lyrics we came up with.”

It takes a moment for Sam to come up with the memory and a smile shines across his face. Andy looks concerned but Sam reassures him, “It’s one you definitely know. Don’t you worry. Let’s do it.”

Sebastian sets up his synthesizer to sound like drums and starts tapping out the fairly repetitive beat. Sam joins in on guitar for a moment, letting the melody play long enough for Andy to recognize it, and recognize it he does. Andy grins and as soon as the melody comes around, he joins in.

“_What do you do with a drunken sailor  
__What do you do with a drunken sailor  
__What do you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning?_

_Way, hey, and up she rises  
_ _Way, hey, and up she rises  
_ _Way, hey, and up she rises early in the morning!”_

They run through the usual lines – shave his belly with a rusty razor, throw him in a longboat till he’s sober, put him in the bed with the captain’s daughter – and the whole time, Andy is grinning like a fool. Sam could almost kiss Sebastian for letting Andy have such a good time (even though he won’t because there is someone else he wants to kiss NO STOP IT BRAIN). Then, of course…they get into the verses that they wrote while drunk. Andy _turns_ to Sebastian and gestures for Sebastian to start. Which the man does so. With gusto.

“_Draw a dick on his face with Sharpie,  
__Draw a dick on his face with Sharpie,  
__Draw a dick on his face with Sharpie early in the morning!”_

Andy snorts. Actually snorts with laughter, covering his mouth with a hand, his eyes dancing with amusement. Sam sees stars for a moment, especially as Andy giggle laughs through the chorus. Sam gladly takes it away with the next verse, desperate to make him laugh more.

“_Eat up the last of his Nutella, _  
_Eat up the last of his Nutella,_  
_Eat up the last of his Nutella early in the morning!”_

Andy makes a mock horrified face. “What kind of monster?” He says, following up with a grin and launching into the chorus.

They manage one more verse, even as they smile at each other.

“_T__ext his ex with a ‘u up?’ message, _  
_Text his ex with a ‘u up?’ message,_  
_Text his ex with a ‘u up?’ message early in the morning!_

_That’s what you do with a drunken sailor,  
_ _That’s what you do with a drunken sailor,  
_ _That’s what you do with a drunken sailor early in the morning!_

_Way, hey, and up she rises  
_ _Way, hey, and up she rises  
_ _Way, hey, and up she rises early in the morning!”_

Andy looks so delighted that the wide genre shift is almost forgivable. Sam is starstruck. Sebastian is…beyond amused.

“Might not be our genre, but if that’s the only way we can get you up to the mic, I’ll take it,” Sebastian chuckles. “You’ve got pipes. Don’t you think so, Sam?”

Over Andy’s shoulder, Sam mouths a soft _FUCK YOU_ at Sebastian. When the farmer turns around, Sam tries not to lose all brain function. “Yeah. You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” Andy smiles. “You guys play really well.”

He's looking at Sam when he says it. Sam could combust with joy.

"You should come play with us again sometime," Sam says before his brain can catch up with him. "We'll even put in some country."

Andy's smile softens, lines forming by his eyes, and he looks so fond that Sam can't control the blush that surges up his cheeks.

"As you wish."

**Author's Note:**

> _boot_, verb, originating in Western Canada: someone who is of drinking age who buys alcohol for those who are under-aged. 
> 
> And if you are interested - [Rolling Down to Old Maui by Stan Rogers.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPYAZUcohmw)


End file.
